The Swing of Things -- 12 Autumn, 513 AV
"Why is it always this section?" Sana mumbled to herself, a twist of bitterness to her words. She took in a deep breath, and trailed a hand across the spine of the old book, clicking her tongue as she struggled to make out the faded lettering. "Is that a… 7? Or a 1?" She glared at it, before comparing it to that of books already shelved, trying to decipher the patterning in the handwriting. "The 7 here looks a lot like…" she took a hard look at the labels of the books in front of her, finding her eyes drawn to the titling and nature of topic, and internally scorning those at the front desk. Each book in front of her seemed to boast some elaborate title concerning the Nari language and 'Isolated Cultural Groups of Kalea', claiming to contain all that one could wish to know about 'Values, Beliefs, and Attitudes that Shape the Inarta Peoples, and those of Surrounding Regions'.
Many books seemed worn and torn, bitten by age and moths, though there were some bright and firm, no more than a few years old. Most cover textures were alive with the themes and colours of Wind Reach, with the patterning akin to the vibrant swirl of colour of glass beading, or the proud and gold feathering of eagles, or the twisted reds and oranges of the Inarta's hair.
Maybe the ones in charge of slotting were trying to tell her something, to push her to learn more about her heritage and fully accept her culture. Maybe they were just trying to piss her off. Sana bit down hard on her lip as she attempted to focus, quickly scorning herself for her lack of skill in the art of meditation. Still she found her mind wondering. She couldn't help herself, her mind a turmoil of colour and darkness and love and hate.
She wished to see the eagles again, to hear their songs and the beats of their wings. She couldn't deny her love for the wind, nor her fascination with heights, or miss watching her mother's work. But she glad to be rid of the blood and vanity, of blinding hubris and defeating scorn. She would never miss the way she was looked at, nor the way the dregs were looked at. 'Things would have been strange, had I stayed,' she often thought, thinking back to what little she recalled of the place.
Then she sighed again, and felt a weight on her chest. 'I haven't a clue what it would have been like,' she thought, reminding herself of her young age at the time, and how all she knew at the time was that people were mean because her younger siblings were different, and her own name was a little strange. Even then, what little more beyond that was told and sung to her by her great aunt, an old woman's whose own love for the Inarta culture outshone the beauty of Lhavit - the woman would acknowledge the wrongs of the peoples but would never relent in bridging the gap between Lhavitian and Inarta. It was Aunt Lyanne that taught Sana the common tongue, a language the young girl had found cold and harsh, and a mouthful to pronounce.
It was boring, she often thought. Nari was a like a song; it was light and varied pitch, tone, and sounds. Emotion was easily conveyed, with the tune of one's words able to be transitioned from mirthful to murderous by the mere clipping of syllables. But common tongue was her fall-back now, and in the shedding of ties with Wind Reach, Sana found little need to sing the song of the Nari tongue, which had changed from the innocent chime of a child, to something broken and cold.
She let go of a breath she didn't realise she was holding, a burst of tiredness washing over her, accented by a stifled yawn. 'My mind's a mess,' she mused, 'I haven't thought about this kind of thing in…' her mind blanked, and she floundered for a response, 'Several years… since Aunt Lyanne died, I suppose.'
She made some unhuman noise, a strange cross between a defeated groan and a frustrated snarl, managing to make out at least three separate, however similar, handwritings in the labelling in front of her. "I think I'll take the liberty of relabeling this section next time I'm here." She tutted twice, before looking up and down the apparently empty aisle, scanning the area for any curious onlooker. "Screw it," she decided, shoving the book into its general jurisdiction "What the others don't know, can't hurt 'em". Her next few words were softer still, "Not like you need a book, when any proud Inarta will tell you anything like."
She took in a deep breath, before expelling it out as a humourless laugh, accompanying her words with a shrug of bitter admittance, "Maybe the others are right. I need to get the hell over this bullsh-OW!" the ladder beneath her trembled, and Sana's arms flailed slightly, knocking over another book in hand as well as a few already shelfed, before she brought her hands down too hard on the shelf for balance.
"What was that?" she heard someone call, anxious but reluctant to act.
"Nothing," Sana called, quickly regaining her bearings, "I just lost balance, everything's fine."
"Alright," the response was dismal, however sounded somewhat relieved. "You're off in half a bell."
"Thank the Gods," she mused in return, already planning what to do once she clocked off.
The other girl gave a light laugh in agreement "Yeah, the day has gone slowly."
"Ladies," chimed an older voice, sickly sweet and unknown to either, "This is a library. I understand you girls must be bored, but please pay mind to those of use still working."
Sana heard the polite mumble that sounded like the other girl offering her apologies, and Sana found herself giving little more than a sarcastic 'sorry', breathed lightly under her breath. "I'd like to see you try and work here without wishing out gouge out your eyes," she mused to herself, hitting a lucky streak and slotting three books into the same small section. She took a quick survey to the damage below, spotting the books lay spine up on the floor, before climbing back down and retrieving them. Two of them, she found, she’d only just shelved, but the last was unfamiliar. The spine itself was a bland one, but the cover was adorned with a wooden base and brilliant, painted, colours.
It seemed, for the most part, more genuine than any-thing else in the section. She flipped to the first page, scanning for an author – ‘Tyra Liamis.’ A rather human name, but the script had a certain twist to it – the same bends and curls and proportions that Sana wrote with when she was still learning the common tongue. ‘Perhaps a human living in Wind Reach?’ she asked herself, her own deep set frown prompting her to take the book underwing and slip the rest away.
She pushed the rolling ladder to the right, watching it slowly roll to the end of the shelving, before clicking into its standby position. She’d barely made it out of the shelves before she saw the other student she’d been speaking to wave her over. She was a pretty little thing, her hair short and dark, light and feathered around her face. Her eyes were striking, bright and radiant; golden in colouration. She had a name, a brilliant, short, name. What was it, again? One of the senior staff mumbled something to her, and she smiled sweetly and nodded, shooting Sana a foul look once the man left, her eyes rippling and deepening to a burnt orange.
“By the Gods,” she sighed, once Sana was close enough. “I am so sorry, and I know you don’t have all that much time left…” her words were quick and muddled, and the closer Sana drew, the younger the woman appeared. “But could you please mind the desk for me?”
Sana pressed her lips into a smile. “No problem,” she nodded, sliding behind the heavy counter as the young woman slipped out, slipping the book to an empty shelf just underneath, and watching as the other girl scurried off into the sea of shelves.
Once she was well and truly out of sight, Sana’s hands drummed over the staff logbook, before scanning the pages to sate her own curiosity. ‘Come on… whose on desk?’ Finally, she hit the marker, and was anything but disappointed in rediscovering the girl’s name – ‘Elsie.’ It was a sweet name, and it rolled of the tongue like a song. Sana imagined trying to say the name in vain, and although she could quite easily picture herself coming off as rather intimidating in the common language, Nari was different in her mind. She summoned up the memories of her past – when she was scolded and yelled at and complained to.
The song of the language came off clipped and frightening, but there was something about the way the name ‘Elsie’ formed in her throat that had her think it ridiculous to say it in anger. “Excuse me,” Sana’s head snapped up, and met the gaze of some perplexed man. He was older than her by some bit, and the way his brow quirked and the rigidness of his stance hinted that perhaps he had been standing there for some time. “Just this, thanks.”
She blinked twice, and glanced at the book, it was a large tome, expounding on the history of Kalea.
“Could you please write your name here,” she said, her tone rather merry, using the time it took the man to do so to search the library catalog, hunting down the place of entry for the book’s genre. ‘Ok, so today is the 12, it’s a third of a season allowance on such books, which means…’ “Thank you,” she smiled, seeing that the man was well versed in the workings of the library, the quill remaining in his hand. “And if you could sign your name here, and return the book before the forty second of Autumn, that’d be marvelous.”
The man nodded and smiled, tucking the book close to him, throwing her a short nod and gesture as he left the building.
“So much for a slow day,” she mumbled, spying a younger boy make his approach – and she’d have thought that he was collapse under the sheer weight of the books, had his gaze not been so damned determined. With a loud thud, he placed them on the desk in front of her. He seemed out of breath – tired and bewildered. “Hi,” was all he could muster, pointing rather overwhelmed at his own work. “These.”
“Right,” She mused, readying herself for the systematic checkout. “Could you please do your own little bit by writing your name into the sleeve?”
He returned her question with a wise-guy grin. “Already done.”
“Brilliant.” She took the first book of the six and found it quickly in the catalog. It only took her a moment to scrawl down the name and author of the book, before indicating the date which it was due. “You know the drill,” she said, turning the log for him to sign, before counting her blessings that the boy was only borrowing for two subjects – two books on the evolution of Syliran culture, and the other four, slimmer, novels, devoted to the weights and effects of religion and the shaping of cultural values. Just what was this kid studying?
The little routine was finished quickly, and with few more words or comments, Sana already sick of limited genres and topics covered in her library post. By the ideas of the founder of the Dawn Tower’s architect, it had been decided that numerous, specialised libraries would be easier to maintain and keep track of. There was one that centred on magic disciplines, holding a range of journals and textbooks, one devoted to the topics of skills and personal developments, one completely fiction, and then there was Sana’s – history, geography, and religion. It was little wonder that everyone who entered seemed to leave with the same book, even though it was the second biggest of the libraries.
Sana saw movement from the corner of her eye, and turned quick enough to have a rather flustered looking young woman jump. “Right, um. Hi. Books, books on the Vantha? The peoples who live in the North, so where are…?”
She didn’t finish her enquiry, nor did she look like she ever would be able to. “Right over there,” Sana said, have to lean awkwardly over the desk, the shelves in particular that the woman would need a little out of the way. The woman tried to follow her gaze, but it was clouded over the same little section. “Here,” Sana said shortly, slipping from behind the counter and walking several paces towards the destination, before realising she needed to make her intentions more clear. “There section is a little bit out of the way, I’ll lead you straight to it.”
The woman moved with a jolt, but kept on Sana’s heels as she navigated down the narrow halls.
“Just up there,” she clarified, pointing to a shelf that was far above her own head, but rather reachable to the taller woman next to her.
“Right, uh, thank you.” She said, giving her a nod of acknowledgment, before plastering herself against a bookshelf to allow Sana to get past.
“No problem, please come and let me know if you need anything else, alright?”
She glanced back, but didn’t bother waiting on a response, the woman’s gaze hard on the titles in front of her.
Her breath left her when she made it back in sights of the counter, with another, taller man standing by awkwardly. ‘Gods, please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad…’
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” she asked, slipping into the counter. “I am sorry for the wait.”
“No, no! It’s quite fine, uh, I was just wondering if you could point me towards the library that holds your morphing stuff.”
Sana raised an eyebrow at him, a look that warranted the man to feel the need to explain himself. It was often that students got lost and confused, but not this much. There was an axiety in him that trumped anyone she’d seen thus far. If his problem was just the talking and socialising aspect of things, she wagered he’d have preferred to wander around in his search, rather than actually ask for aid.
“I’m not actually from the Dawn Tower, I-I just heard that you guys have a book that I need…” His words trailed off, and he scratched the back of his head, unsure as to how to continue.
“Right,” she said, drawing out the vowel. “Well, you’re on the wrong floor, to begin with. Anything magic related is in the largest library, second floor, end of hallway. You'll find two seconds in the library, world and personal magic, after that, sections are organised alphabetically.”
He nodded slowly, processing her words.
“Also, try to relax. The Dawn Tower doesn’t really involve itself too much into Tower rivalry. You’re fine as long as you don’t insult the mirrors and our taste in decoration. If anything, compliment anyone you see about how bright and ‘inspiring’ everything is. It gets us sentimental folk every time.”
He let out a light chuckle, and gave a crooked smirk. “Duly noted. Thanks for the help.”
“Any time.”
Were there rules about going into the wings of other Towers? Her mind droned and worked the answer, turning it over and kneading it. She hadn’t heard of another being in the Dawn Tower’s wing, although there was an odd rumour or two that would run about members of the other two Towers playing some petty jokes on one another. Fact or fiction, she may very well never know.
“I am so sorry, Sana. I’ve kept you over time.” Elsie’s voice came from out of nowhere, and Sana almost jumped out of her own skin when she turned and saw her so close.
“Its fine,” She said, before pulling out the book from the hollow shelf, marveling at how quickly the time had passed her by. “It was a good way to pass the time. Its nicer talking to people and doing physical work, however the tedious, than to stare at numbers and shelve – I find.”
“You think so?” She laughed, tilting her head as though considering it. “Then maybe we should switch shifts next time.”
“I’m game.”
“Deal done.”
Elsie's eyes fell to the book that Sana clutched, mentally registering the tome. “Is that…” the Vantha ventured, eyes lingering on the delicate titling.
“Is that what?”
“Nothing. Just sign the logbook, I’ll fill in the rest. I’d say you have 30 days, but when do we ever stick to limit?”
“Ah,” Sana lulled, slipping out of the desk, smirking as she turned to leave, “The perks of being a librarian!”
